


We are Not Meant to be Alone

by AmeliaDoo



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Booker | Sebastien le Livre Needs Therapy, Booker | Sebastien le Livre Needs a Hug, Booker | Sebastien le Livre Whump, Booker | Sebastien le Livre-centric, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Depressed Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Established Relationship, Exiled Booker | Sebastien le Livre, F/F, Families of Choice, Found Family, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Insomnia, M/M, POV Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Panic Attacks, Sad Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Searching for Quynh | Noriko, Sleep Deprivation, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26234971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmeliaDoo/pseuds/AmeliaDoo
Summary: Instead of Booker meeting Quynh in his apartment at the end of the movie he is the one to save her from the iron maiden
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Everyone, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 10
Kudos: 259





	We are Not Meant to be Alone

With no missions and no family Booker turned to copious amounts of alcohol for comfort. But not even that could numb the pain for long. He lost his family once, watched his children, the most precious thing in his whole world, wither away. Spitting hateful words, agony lacing his tone Booker watched his son fade away. He made himself a new family, but could never let go of the grief and that’s what cost him his second. He knew that wallowing, holding on to that grief was killing him, and yet he could never die. 

“Fate is a cruel mistress.” He mumbled to himself before slumping down onto the shitty bed in his crappy little apartment in the slums of the Paris outskirts. Face down in the musty pillow he couldn’t see the sky coloring the peeling walls shade of orange and red as night began settling in. The world around him faded away as he moved into unconsciousness, letting the alcohol send him into a fitful sleep. 

He dreamed of the usual abstract scenes that make zero sense when you wake, when mid-dream his world shifted. He was back in that damn iron maiden resting at the bottom of the ocean. Staring up at the light that could be seen from where she lay, so close to the surface, forever trapped. The only reprieve is when she dies, allowing her flashes of the world and pieces of her family. He feels her pain, eyes stinging, lungs burning, the insanity gripping tighter on her mind; he could feel it all. He could taste the salt of the sea, the metallic iron coming from her bloody fists, hear the muffled screams vibrating from her chest. 

Jerking out of bed, Booker began coughing, he’s body trying to expel water that wasn’t there. In that moment he was reminded of his son, leaning over a bed gagging on nothing, scared and in pain. It was like a gunshot, the realization that Quynh was his family; that she was suffering just like Jean-Pierre had been but unlike with his son he could use his gift to help her. So that’s what he decided to do. Booker was not an artist like Joe had been but luckily with his computer skills, and google on his side he began to research all the different things he was able to see from her eyes. He made a list of the details he got from the vision:  
-water deep enough that light was obscured,  
-sand mixed with large dark rock -organic minerals,  
-no sharks or other wildlife implies isolated area,  
-salty meaning ocean or sea,  
-occurred in the sixteenth century near England,  
-cold water means far from the equator. 

Using what he knew and what he could researched, Booker found that the best place and the most likely place that the church dropped her was the North Sea, in a shallow area near Dogger Bank, a sand bank close to the center of said sea. First he would need a boat with accurate enough sonar to tell the shape and material of the Iron Maiden as well as a pulley system that can lift it off the seafloor, then he would need a circular saw to cut through the chains once he pulled her out, along with a steel cables, cinder blocks, and a whole lot of luck. 

Finding a boat with the pulley system and sonar Booker needed was surprisingly easy. While traveling up the coast Booker found some deep sea fishermen in Knokke, Belgium who had made it a habit of trafficking people for a little extra cash. He ended up liberating the boat from them as well as most of the brain matter from their heads. One quick purchase from Amazon using Copley’s account, which was easy to hack as Booker kindly pointed out in the letter he left on Copley’s desk that afternoon when he picked up all the packages he had sent to Copley’s house completely unnoticed, gave him the rest of the materials he needed. Within the letter contained the information as to where Booker was going, what he was planning on doing, and almost an entire page begging Copley not to tell the team what he was doing so as to not get their hopes up. 

Getting the hang of sailing was a difficult feat, even with the technology aboard helping Booker from capsizing. The North Sea has a large amount of rain and storms; and he just happened to be sailing into the middle of a nasty onel. After the fourth day of sailing without sleep, rain still pouring down on the tin roof protecting the boat’s small interior, three cots were in a cabin below the steering rig, as well as a radio and sonar system. Booker was beginning to feel the effects of sleep deprivation as he moved back and forth across the bank waiting for the sonar to pick up an unusual object on the seafloor. The waves shifted the boat causing a bag tied to one of the cots to swing violently. Inside was an old switch blade that had most certainly seen better days, the circular saw, and a black M17 handgun. Resting on top of some of the controls was the badly installed and probably illegally purchased sonar system, and directly beneath the metal paneling were the steel cables, thirteen cinder blocks, and a length of rope that tied all of the blocks together. It was getting harder to tell whether the boat was swaying under his feet, or if the sleep deprivation induced paranoia had set in making him weak in the knees. After the third day of sailing Booker had begun seeing and hearing things, mainly his family dying. They became clearer, more solid as time went on without him sleeping. He saw Andy bleeding out with her back pressed against the metal paneling Booker stood next too. He heard horrible gurgling sounds as Nile drowned in her own blood, throat slashed. He watched the latest hallucination with morbid fascination, as the form Jean-Pierre leaned over the cot coughing up blood screaming his hatred towards Booker slowly shifted into Joe. 

“You are a very pathetic man, Booker. You’re nothing but a traitor and a coward! A selfish piece of shit! Do you hear me, Booker?” There were drops of blood leaking out of Joe’s mouth, getting caught in his beard. “Booker, I’m- are you even fucking listening to me? Booker! Booker!”

Whipping his head to where the radio sat, he waited for Joe’s voice to fill his ears once again. He watched the red light blink to life indicating someone close by on one the four frequencies the radio received was talking. 

“Booker! Can you hear me? Do you copy?” Joe’s voice came through the speakers once again, the anger Booker heard earlier no longer apparent. 

On wobbly legs Booker lunged towards the radio, “Joe? What are you doing out here?”

“Copley called us as soon as he found the letter. We came out here to help.”

“Putain de merde! I fucking told him not to tell you and what does Copley do he fucking…” Booker went quiet as Joe’s words registered, “What the fuck do you mean “we”? Did you bring Andy with? It’s dangerous out here!” 

“Booker,” Andy’s voice came through the speakers, “Just because you're exiled doesn't mean we’re going to let you do this mission alone. It’s dangerous for all of us and if it’s my time, it’s my time.” 

Holding the button down to respond to Andy’s frustrated statement the loud sound of the sonar started pinging.

“Booker, what was that? Booker answer me,” and there was Nicky, “Booker, we're coming to find you. Give us your coordinates, please. Nile is at the controls of our boat right now. Booker answer m-” 

Nicky’s voice was cut off as Booker shoving the gun into the waistband of his jeans. Smoke began rising from the three very distinct holes in the radio. “If they’re coming out here then they’ll find the boat eventually.” Booker thought, trying to justify his actions. Walking over to the control panel, Booker grabbed the broken radio tossing into the bin and slammed his hand down on the button labeled “drop anchor” in French. That was the nice thing about getting a boat in Belgium, French was one of the main languages there. Snatching up the steel cable, his rucksack, and one end of the looped length of rope, Booker dragged almost three hundred forty pounds of cement blocks out towards the left side of the boat, right near where the sonar was picking up an anomaly on the seafloor. He moved methodically in the slowly ceasing rain, attaching the cables to the metal pulley rig, clipping the hook that had been attached to the cables to his belt. Booker moved back over to where he dropped the rucksack on the rail next to the blocks. Strapping the switchblade to his left bicep, Booker leaned down tying the rope around his waist, the bricks hanging over the rail. He took a couple deep breaths to steady himself before swinging his left leg over the rails. The bricks swayed dangerously behind him as he steadied himself on the other side of the rail, nothing stopping him from toppling into the waves. He adjusted his grip, hooking his left arm around the uppermost rail and reaching back into the waistband of his jeans pulling out the gun once again. Raising it so it rested directly underneath his chin, Booker felt it shift with his Adam's apple as he swallowed. After checking that he had everything he’d need to save Quynh and his bag with the saw was tied tight to the rail he clicked off the safety. Glancing down at the dark unforgiving waves even as the sun started to appear above his head, Booker sent out one last prayer to god he didn’t believe in that when he died his slack hand would drop the gun onto the deck instead of taking it with him into the water.

“Booker? Booker!” That was Nile, it had to be but why was he hearing her now? The lack of sleep must have really been getting to him, “Booker, Jesus Christ! Look at me!”

Turning towards the shouts he saw them, Nile holding a megaphone with Andy and Joe standing at the bow of an old beat-up cruiser, Nicky visible behind them at the helm behind the glass. They are moving towards him, fast.

“Oh shit,” Booker glanced at the pulley system to make sure that when he went down the cables would unwind from the wheel he attached them to, “Here it goes.”

Looking once more at his quickly approaching family and squaring his shoulders, Booker looked to the sky and squeezed. The difference between when Nicky, Joe, or Andy die versus him was that instead of empty blanks in time he saw Quynh. He could see through her eyes, feel her die over and over again until he came back. He watched from her eyes trapped inside that god forsaken cage as his only body slowly came into view. He saw himself settle on the sandy floor, a trickle of blood leaking from the top of his own head. Then he was back, his eyes dilating to see in the dark water, forcing himself not to breath in on instinct knowing that doing so would cause his lungs to immediately fill with water allowing him to know exactly how Quynh felt for all those centuries. 

Scanning around he finally spotted it, Quynh’s prison. Quickly grabbing the blade strapped to his arm, he cut off the rope attached to the cinder blocks that helped drag him hundreds of meters to Quynh. Using the floor as a pushing off point Booker made his way over to Quynh, unclipping the hook and cables as he went. He hooked the cable to the padlock that kept Quynh inside. He looked into her eyes seeing the pain, the rage, and the fire that comes with fighting hundreds of battles but none of the insanity that he expected to see. In her eyes he saw hope, understanding and clarity. He gestured vaguely towards the surface, hoping that she would understand his plan when he realized that with the rest of his family here, his plans could change a lot. 

His original plan was to use the cable as a guide back up to the surface. Once back on the boat he would activate the crank to wind the cables back up taking Quynh with them. But now he could stay down here, wait for his family to activate the system and pull what they think is his stupid ass back to the surface. And should the cable break the padlock he would be down here to help get Quynh to the surface still wrapped in her chains. With the anchor’s chain as a guide to the boat Quynh could be reunited with Andy, she could meet Nile, she could live the life he took for granted for so many years. Booker had already made up his mind as he hooked the cables to the padlock, he would stay on the seafloor until his family left so as not to violate the agreement of his exile. One hundred years alone, that is what was decided, that was his penance for his crimes. God was he going to miss Andy, they both knew he would never see her again. He was so very grateful that he was able to hear her voice through that radio once more, instead of the last time he hears her being from one of those hallucinations he saw. 

He knew he was drowning, could feel the burn of his lungs asking for air and his vision growing fuzzy and dark around the edges. Glancing at Quynh, he could see her fading away too but this time there were no thumping fists, instead there was one shackled hand reaching through the mouth-shaped gap in the iron, like she was asking for some comfort before she died. Booker took it as his vision got darker, squeezing her hand tight like he wished he had done with his son’s before he passed. Even in death their grip didn't falter, and when Booker came to he saw Quynh’s eyes regaining focus looking at something over his left shoulder. He turned, seeing the cable start its slow ascend towards the surface. Looking back at Quynh, Booker smiled letting his hand fall away from hers. Pulling back completely from the maiden Booker watched hoping that the entire iron coffin would rise. Sadly that was too much to hope for and with a horrible screeching sound that could only be slightly muffled by the water, the loop that latched the iron doors closed as well as the first link in the chain snap clean off. Booker watched as the cable moved upwards only the padlock had a few loops of metal attached, thanking whatever gods he could think of that he was still under the water able to help Quynh to freedom.

Turning away from the hook Booker saw Quynh looked panicked, before Booker began pushing the broken chains off of the doors. Booker grabbed the blade he used earlier, jamming it between the two doors and wedging them open enough for his finger to slip underneath. He could feel Quynh pushing from the inside with her legs, trying to get just one of the doors open. Finally the left door was open, the right door just behind it and Booker was able to pull her out of the coffin and towards the anchor lying a couple meters away. Panic started to creep in as the anchor shifted, Booker started pulling Quynh harder towards the anchor that was now clearly making its own move towards the surface, slower than the cables had been but still moving. Grabbing the shackles between Quynh’s wrists he hooker them around the anchor before letting go. The anchor started rising faster, only partially slowed by the added weight, Quynh looked back in horror as Booker fell more and more behind. Booker took one final deep breath letting the salty water fill his lungs, and the last thing he heard before he felt his heart give out again was a shout, words muffled and still so clear filled with pure agony as Quynh was dragged away. 

“Please no! Wait!” 

It hurt him more that it should have to hear Quynh’s muffled screams, but he knew that she deserved the family waiting for her on the surface more than he did. He sold them out, just because he was fucking sad. Laying at the bottom of the ocean staring at the slight traces of light as they started to fade with his vision. 

When she broke the surface of the water it was indescribable, breathing air for the first time in half a millennia and yet she couldn’t celebrate. Quynh could only think about the man she saw every time she died for over two hundred years. She could feel his emotions, his grief, and more recently his guilt, regret, and self loathing. Clinging to the edge of the boat taking deep breaths and hacking up water, Quynh was too focused on the man still under the waves that she didn’t even hear the footsteps or shouting coming from the deck over her right shoulder. 

“God dammit Booker!” Shouted Joe before stopping dead in his tracks staring down at long black hair that most certainly didn’t belong to Booker. Next to him Nicky audibly gasped.

“What the fuck were you thinking Book?” That voice made Quynh finally look up, she knew that voice anywhere. Andromache was moving to the rail where Joe and Nicky were standing still as a statute, “Did you really think that you could break into Copley’s place, steal a boat, then shoot yourself when we came to get you? Honestly Book w-“

“Andromache... I’ve missed you.”

That seemed to break Nicky and Joe out of their shock. Leaning over the rail, the two of them were able to haul Quynh onto the deck where she lay sopping wet. Andy dropped down onto her knees pulling Quynh into her chest, tears and quiet apologies were finding a home in the black hair. Nicky and Joe surged forward hugging her from the back wrapping her in a warm embrace after so long in the cold water alone. Quynh lay in the embrace for quite some time, the only thing not currently wrapped in their hug was her still chained left hand. The very hand that was held, gripped tightly by that man under the wave as she died one last time, cold but no longer alone, what had Andromache and Yusuf called him?

“Booker.” Andy’s head shot up at her words, “Booker. Booker! I have to go get him! He can’t be left down there. He’ll spend years just fighting his way to the surface. Every time he dies while trying to get up he’ll sink back to the bottom.” 

The word to describe the emotion in Quynh’s eyes was not panic, it was full blow insanity. Joe’s eyes widened as he realized that they had completely forgotten about Booker too caught up in this reunion to think about the other piece of their little family. Moving back to the steel cables and hook that held the lock that Joe now realized was attached to Quynh’s prison. Clipping the hook to his belt loop, Joe turned to Nicky who had been following him silently since he moved away from Quynh. 

“I know that look Yusuf. What are you planning?” Nicky had put his hand on Joe’s sternum stopping him in his tracks, “What can I do to help?”

Joe could have kissed him right now, but he had to get to Booker before the boat drifted too far away from where he lay. With no anchor on the seafloor there was nothing keeping the boat stationary.

“I’m going to get Booker back. I don’t have cinder blocks like he did, but holding the anchor should do, right? And I think Booker had the right idea, die so I don’t struggle on the way down. Will you help me Nicolo?” 

“...okay.” 

Nodding his head Joe moved to the boat where Andy sat holding Quynh while Nicky went to check on Nile who was inside the cabin of Booker’s boat watching the sonar and manning the controls. 

“Nile I need you to drop anchor when you hear a gunshot. Please. I promise to explain everything after you drop anchor but there isn’t time right this second.”

Nile nodded, her shoulders squaring up as the marine training kicked in. Nicky gave her a quick peck on the forehead before exiting the cabin, loading Booker's handgun he found on the deck as he moved to where Joe sat with his hand wrapped in the chain of the anchor. He was sitting on the rail, one arm wrapped around the pole keeping him from tumbling into the water below. 

“Ready Yusuf? Get down, grab Booker, and don’t let go of the cable. We’ll pull you up in exactly ten minutes“ 

Joe nodded solemnly, “Nicolo, shoot me.” 

Nicky steadied the gun, pointing the barrel at the back of Joe’s head, breathed deep and squeezing the trigger. Even knowing that Joe was not going to stay dead the fear still pierced Nicky’s heart, as he gently removed Joe’s arm from where it stayed hook allowing him to fall off the boat and watched the anchor slowly drag him into the depths and out of view. 

Booker has just learned after drowning for the eighteenth or nineteenth time - it was getting harder to keep track- that dying didn’t solve the sleep deprivation induced hallucinations. He glanced at the surface every time he came back, checking if one of the two boats had left yet, every time he saw two distinct dark blobs floating above him. His attention was always drawn away from the surface by sounds and movement on the seafloor. Usually it was Andy bleeding out, or Jean-Pierre screaming hateful words at him. But twice now he saw Nicky and Joe yelling at him, invisible straps keeping them held against the sand. The pained cries from Andy as she bleeds out and the desperate pleas for help he can give his son are nothing compared to the yells of betrayal from his brothers. He knew that Joe had been the one to push for the full century, especially when one considered the fact Joe had killed a man just for shooting Nicky, and Booker had done much worse. He sold them all out to endless years of torture just because he was too much of a desprate and pathetic man to wait to see his wife and kids again. God he was such a fucking coward, rather die another thousand times at the bottom of the sea than face them on those boat and get more time for breaking his exile not even a year in. Booker brought his knees up to his chest after the third death and had begun wrapping the ropes tighter around his legs so that he didn’t float upwards, which seemed redundant but it gave him peace of mind knowing that he couldn’t get back up without cutting the ropes. 

When Joe came to on the sand he had to consciously not breath in, and then wonder how Booker was able to see fucking anything with how little light was coming in because of the boats. Shaking his head he remembered that he only had ten minutes to get Booker before Nicky pulled the cables back up, and about thirty seconds had already passed with him just moving down. Joe began looking for Booker somewhere in the open water above him, eyebrows furrowing when he didn’t see any human figures swimming upwards. Squinting in the dim light, Joe scanned the sandy floor, eyes stopping where they landed on the broken doors of the iron maiden that held Quynh for so long. When he was finally able to tear his eyes away from the sight, his eyes drifted over to the blocks and rope that Booker had tied to his waist when he went down. Joe’s eyes moved away before shooting right back to the pile when he saw a cluster of bubbles emerge from the pile and begin their quick ascent. Pushing off the sandy floor Joe moved quickly to where the bubble appeared, seeing Booker laying on his right side eyes empty. It was only when his eyes dilated and another burst of bubbles escaped his mouth did Joe realize that Booker wasn't dead when he got to him, just extremely still holding his breath when he came back. Watching as Booker came back and the only sign of life were his pupils constricting and his eyes flicking to the surface before landing off in the distance making Joe’s heart clench. 

Booker refused to look at the figure in front of him. He had gone numb, and he knew that moving to get away from the figure would use up all the energy he had. The lack of any real feeling was probably a blessing in disguise but he couldn't bring himself to even think about it. In the back of Booker’s head he acknowledged the presence of another hallucination of Joe and that he was this time without Nicky but what Booker couldn’t bring himself to look at him. Looking at them always seemed to make it worse, so he waited laying in the sand for the shouting to begin. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Joe take the knife still strapped to his left arm, waiting to see how this ghost would hurt him. He didn’t mean to look when Joe moved closer to his waist, knife in hand ready to carve him open, Booker couldn’t help but flinch. He watched Joe’s face crumple in on itself and felt the wave of guilt at upsetting even this figment of Joe that he could look at. Reaching out for the knife as Joe’s grip started loosening he pulled it into his chest between two ribs and straight into his heart. 

Joe was trying to free Booker from where he was wrapped in the rope, but he could feel his air running out. Watching Booker flinch away from him, the first bit of recognition since he had gotten to him when he picked up the knife hurt. His vision was fading, his lungs aching for him to take another breath, and his grip on the knife weakening. Feeling the iron-tight grip on his hand helped him to focus just to watch Booker stab himself, and blood to fill his vision before his body forced him to breath in, blood and salt water mixing on his tongue before his heart stopped as well.

Joe came to only seconds later, frantically grabbing the knife that was still wedged deep into Booker’s chest. Booker was still dead, so as quick as he could Joe cut every rope he could see, sawing through them with only the efficiency of some who has been alive for millenia could. Watching Booker’s wound close slowly was worrying, and part of Joe was glad that it was going so slow because it gave him time to cut the rope without any distraction but now with the rope cut and Booker held tight in his arms for when they were dragged back up it was now a lot more concerning how long it was taking him to heal. Joe had assumed he had pickled his liver drinking away the days but there had to be something bigger wrong with Booker for his body to regenerate so slowly. Any second now Nicky would pull them back up, and all Joe had to do was hold on to Booker, but of course it could never be that simple. Feeling Booker tense in his tight grip filled Joe with nervousness, his arms clasping tighter waiting for Booker to start struggling, but he didn’t. As the cable went taunt slowly pulling the two men upwards, Booker stayed tense the whole way but he didn’t move or try to fight the constricting grip around his chest, almost as if he accepted his fate. 

Booker came to feeling constricted and cold, his chest ached and blood was all he could taste. He started shifting, trying to be free of the strangling grip, his eye open but unseeing. Was his mind punishing him, forcing him to relive the day of his betrayal, strapped to the medical bed, being sliced and poked in the name of science? There was a tugging sensation then, still wrapped up tight in the unforgiving grip a feeling of weightlessness took over, and the sandy floor was moving away from him. Panic filled his addled mind as he realized that the blocks weren’t weighing him down anymore, that he was heading towards the surface where his family was. In the couple of weeks it took for him to get off his ass, stop drinking, and fucking do something for Quynh. He was now three months sober which feels like eternity and nothing for the centuries old frenchman.

Nicky watched as his Yusuf broke the surface of the water, Booker held tight to him looking like a drowned rat. His clothes while wet were also stained, torn, and faded, his eyes were open but glassy with deep shadows underneath that Nicky hadn’t seen since he last visited his son’s graves back in 1947 to see if they were still intact after the war. Turning off the pulley’s and moving to the edge Nicky grabbed Booker under his left arm to heave him onto the deck, looking to his right he saw Nile moving swiftly to Booker’s other side to help. Glancing behind him, he saw Andy standing with Quynh’s arm slung over her shoulders as she braced most of the vietnamese woman’s weight. With both him and Nile pulling Booker up, and Joe pushing from the water it didn’t take much time to get the man aboard. 

Booker knew that he should do something, make it easier for them to pull him aboard but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Too much of a coward to push back off into the water, too weak to leave the family he has been missing in the six months he was without them, but also too scared to face them and the certain extension of his sentence for seeing them again so soon. So he let himself be dragged up, he felt almost numb and the thought of trying to move made his limbs start growing heavier. 

“Booker,” a voice gravelly from dissues spoke at a whisper, and then louder as a sob breaks her words in half “Booker, you left me.” 

It was like watching a man get electrocuted, Nile thought as she watched Booker’s pupils shrink and his entire body tense under her hands where they still lay after pulling him onto the deck. She could only watch as he started trying to stand, his body shaking with the effort or the guilt which could clearly be seen in his eyes; Nile couldn’t be sure. 

Booker could feel the panic attack setting in but he tried to push it down, collapsing back onto his knees not even a foot away from where Joe now sat in his place. His hands started shaking and the world around him got louder, like everything’s volume was turned up to eleven. Tears started leaking out of his eyes, as words tumbled out in a mix of French and English. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I couldn’t- I’m sorry.” Andy couldn’t tell if he was talking to Quynh or to the rest of the guard, and honestly Andy didn’t care. It seemed that everyone had the same idea, because Quynh and her surged forward at the same time while the other three held Booker tighter. 

Arms came around Booker all at once, wrapped around his chest, his shoulders, his abdomen, and on his lap just leaning into his warmth, was Quynh. It was strange, dreaming about her for so long and having been so distant from the rest even after two hundred years fighting together Booker felt the closest to Quynh. So Booker wrapped his arms around Quynh and just cried into her shoulder until he was too exhausted from the sleep deprivation, the deaths, the panic attack, and now crying, to do anything but sleep.

Nile and Joe ended up being the ones that helped Booker on to a cot, where Joe quickly took his leave to check up on Quynh and start sailing the boat back to shore. The three not inside ended up shooting some holes in the haul of their cruiser, getting rid of the boat was much easier than being separated to bring both to shore. Nile stayed by Booker’s side the whole time he slept, making sure that he wouldn't have to wake up alone. When Booker did finally wake Nile was by his side in an instant, but she wasn’t able to hide the look of hurt when he jerked away from her. 

“Nile?” Booker looked so confused.

“Hey Booker,” She said softly, like anything louder than that would spook him, “How you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” he says rushed, waving his hand quickly before fidgeting with his fingers not meeting her eyes, “I don’t understand why you all are here. I’m not supposed to see-. Uh I’m supposed to be alone for another ninety nine years.” 

“Booker, we’re your family. Your exile depends on what we think. We can come see you whenever we want.” A broken sob breaks out of Booker’s chest at Niles words, “Is it oay from me to go bring Quynh in here so she can get some rest as well. There's no other cots than the ones in here”

Booker just nods, watching Nile walk out the door. She returns with Quynh, closing the door as soon as Quynh has stepped in. Booker opens his arms before he can doubt himself and Quynh moves straight into them. He wraps them tight around her, his back to the wall and his eyes trained to the door. He feels Quynh’s breath even out on his neck and even though logically he knows that no one that walks in that door could hurt them Booker still refuses to sleep. It’s hours later, Booker can only tell because of the lack of light coming from under the door and while he hasn’t slept he can feel himself drifting towards unconsciousness. When the cabin door screeches open, the old metal protesting the movement, Booker doesn’t even think. Rolling Quynh around so she’s between him and the wall, his body shielding her from whoever is coming through the door he reaches for a gun that is usually stationed under the pillow. 

“Booker?” Booker’s entire body relaxes when he hears Nile’s voice. The lights in the cabin come on as he pulls his hand out from under the pillow. Quynh is staring at him with appreciation he knows he didn't earn. Looking around he realizes that everyone was staring at him; it made him want to curl into himself and hide. 

“Hey Book,” He looked away from his shoes at Andy’s voice, too greedy to not want to see her as much as possible before he can’t, “We’ve talked. We want you to come back. Sending you to spend a century alone was not the right call. We’re not meant to be alone.”

Booker shook his head, tears leaking from his eyes. He hated having to decline but he knew they didn’t truly trust him. And what he did can not be forgiven so fast. “No Andy. I didn’t do this to be- to buy my way back into the guard. I want you to trust me again.”

“We know that Sebastien,” Booker’s head shot over towards Nicky at his old name, staring into his eyes it was hard to look away, “But Andy is right, we are not meant to be alone.”

“You broke our trust but Booker, but trust is something that we have to build back together. There isn’t an excuse for what you did and believe me I’m still pissed about it, but Nile helped put it into perspective for use. The grief you feel is something we will never understand, and you were right; I always had Nicky, but we are a family. We should have helped you through your feelings and now we will.”

Booker couldn’t stop the tears at Joe’s words. He knew he didn’t deserve this, but god did he want to accept it. He sat in silence just trying to process the words before he whispered out a quiet “okay.”

“Oh thank God! Booker none of these old geezers know how to use a computer.” Nile said, flinging her arms around Booker’s neck. “I don’t understand how they're all so bad at it!”

Booker laughed for the first time in months, since that first night with Nile to be exact. Tears still streaming down his face Booker laughed holding onto his family tight.

**Author's Note:**

> I get panic attacks but I am in no way qualified to talk about mental disorders. In my experience I get an oversensitivity to sounds, tremors in the hands and knees, and trouble breathing but panic attacks, just like the people that are affected by them, differ and vary.


End file.
